


half sleeping, numb with frost

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [184]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Canon Era, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hugs, Kissing, M/M, Magic Gone Wrong, Magic Revealed, Post-Magic Reveal, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Spells & Enchantments, Tenderness, Touch-Starved, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 18:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19706590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: “Stay here tonight,” Arthur said softly, and although it was framed as an order Merlin could hear the entreaty in his voice. “I want you to stay where I can—where I can see you.”“Mmn,” Merlin said without opening his eyes. “I could be persuaded.”After a close call with a vengeful sorceress, Merlin and Arthur find comfort in each other through touch.Written for the Merthur Touch Fest 2019!





	half sleeping, numb with frost

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from [_Thaw_ by David Malouf](https://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/malouf-david/thaw-0226043).
> 
> [Written for the Merthur Touch Fest 2019!](https://merlinwyllt.tumblr.com/post/185704386361/banner-provided-by-the-extremely-generous-and)
> 
> Please do not repost elsewhere or list my fic on Goodreads (or any other similar spaces).

The grate was cold when they got in, and Merlin immediately went to light it, fumbling with the flint a handful of times before a muttered _baerne_ set the wood ablaze. He held his hands out over the heat, aware that he was shaking, and heard Arthur stripping off his gloves behind him.

“Merlin.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin replied, reflexively. He closed his eyes for a moment, seeing only the red and orange haze, then opened them and levered himself to his feet. “I’ll go and fetch some wine, shall I,” he said. “And then I can have George draw you a bath, if you’d like—”

“Merlin,” Arthur said again. He caught at Merlin’s wrist when he passed, forcing him to turn. “You are _not_ fine. Sit down.”

He pushed Merlin into an armchair and Merlin sat without quite intending to, his unsteady legs giving way beneath him. Arthur’s cold fingers brushed the nape of his neck as he passed, a stinging gesture, and a moment later Merlin heard him ordering some food and wine to be sent up, keeping his voice low as if Merlin were sleeping. Merlin wanted to tell him to stop being so ridiculous, but he couldn’t seem to force the words out, and maybe he did doze, just a little, because when he next opened his eyes the food was there, and Arthur was shaking his shoulder gently.

“Eat,” the prince commanded, forcing a cup of something warm and aromatic into his hand. “And drink this. Gaius said it will help.”

Merlin accepted the goblet and took a sip. It was bitter and oddly dry, tasting of wood-bark and dead leaves, but he recognised it as one of Gaius’ potions. “Gaius was here?”

Arthur nodded. “He said to let you rest,” he said. “But that you should be all right by morning.”

Merlin attempted a smile. “See? I told you I was fine.”

Emotion flashed behind Arthur’s blue eyes, too quickly to make out. “You’ll be fine when I say you’re fine,” he growled. “Drink the damn potion.”

“Yes, _sire_.” Merlin rolled his eyes, but drank a little more. With each sip, he felt his head clearing, as if a low-hanging fog were burning away. He flexed his fingers and toes, relishing the diminishing stiffness, and found his appetite gradually returning along with the heat in his blood, as if it, too, had been frozen by the witch’s curse.

Arthur didn’t eat, but sat curled in the chair opposite with his eyes fixed on Merlin, his chin resting on his knees. It was strange to see him so watchful like this, the lines of strain marking his face. Merlin got the impression that he was waiting for something—for Merlin to keel over, perhaps, or burst into tears. It was unnerving.

“What happened?” Merlin asked finally, feeling the need to break the silence. “I remember tackling her when she tried to cast her spell, but nothing after that.”

“You turned to ice.” Arthur’s voice was flat. “The spell hit you dead on, and it was like—like you were frozen stiff. There were icicles in your hair, your skin was blue, and I—you’re lucky she wasn’t trying to kill me, or you’d be dead right now.”

“I think she _was_ trying to kill you, actually,” Merlin said mildly, “she just wasn’t very good at it.”

“That _doesn’t make it any better,_ ” Arthur snarled, his knuckles gone abruptly white on the arms of his chair. “For God’s sake, Merlin. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” Merlin snapped right back, “that between the two of us, I should be the one dealing with the witch, not you!”

Arthur’s mouth shut with a click, and he looked stricken. Beneath Merlin’s exhaustion, he registered how unusual it was to see the prince with all his defences down. It made things worse, somehow; Arthur was meant to be brash and insensitive and occasionally annoying, as untroubled by deeper feelings and emotions as he was by the practicalities of everyday existence. He was not meant to look at Merlin as though he’d just been kicked in the gut by one of his horses.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He wished he could remember more about what had happened, but it was like trying to trace the outline of a fish beneath a frozen pond; he had a vague impression of shape and movement, but nothing more. “Just—you can’t expect me to stand by and watch when you’re in danger. I won’t do it.”

“And how do you think _I_ felt,” Arthur said, grinding the words between his teeth, “when she turned you into an ice sculpture? At least if the spell had hit me, you’d have been able to fix it.”

It was a valid point, but not one which Merlin was inclined to acknowledge just at the moment. He took another sip from his goblet instead. He still felt weak and shivery inside, as though the chill had penetrated deep into the inner workings of his body, and every so often a shudder wracked him as the cramps worked their way out of his muscles. He wasn’t sure how long he had been frozen—it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours—yet it had left him with a profound sense of distance, as if for that brief period the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

“At least there was a fire handy,” he said, remembering vague snatches of the aftermath. Arthur had dragged him so close to the flames it was a wonder he hadn’t set himself alight, trying frantically to chafe the life back into Merlin’s frozen limbs. “And it’s not as if there’s any permanent harm done.”

“Oh, well in _that case_.” Arthur threw up his hands. “As long as she didn’t do any _harm_ , that’s fine. Excuse me for thinking that turning you into a statue is cause for alarm.”

The sarcasm was a front, of course: Merlin could still see the echo of that earlier panic in Arthur’s eyes. He reached out to touch the prince’s arm, but Arthur twitched away from him and stood up, pacing away from the fire and into the darker corners of the room. He ran a hand through his hair, staring out of the windows for a moment before turning.

“Sometimes I don’t understand you,” he said, his voice low. “The number of times you’ve almost gotten killed—or _caught_ —and you still think swanning around Camelot is a good idea…”

They’d had this discussion before, or something like it, on the night that Merlin had first revealed his secret. Words had been exchanged, harsh and uncompromising: Merlin was risking his life every day he stayed in Camelot, and Arthur wouldn’t have it. He would have to leave.

Merlin had explained in equally blunt terms exactly why he would do no such thing, thank you all the same, and they hadn’t spoken to one another for a week while Arthur adjusted to the idea. He had come around eventually, forbidding Merlin from ever getting caught before pushing him up against the wall and giving him a hickey that had lasted for days, but Merlin knew that his awareness of the threat was ever-present. He knew because sometimes he felt the same way.

“I can’t just leave,” he said, because he couldn’t. The entire reason for his very existence was standing right in front of him. “You know that.”

Arthur made a noise like a disgruntled cat, but didn’t disagree. He didn’t want Merlin to leave any more than Merlin wanted to go, and Merlin shuddered involuntarily, thinking of what his life would be like without Arthur in it. Fewer encounters with angry sorceresses would be nice, as would the ability to do magic without the threat of execution hanging over his head. But neither of those things would mean much without Arthur.

When he looked up, Arthur was watching him.

“What?”

“You’re still cold,” the prince said, pointing out the obvious. “You’re practically _in_ the fire, but you’re shivering.”

“I’m—”

“Do _not_ say fine,” Arthur said, jabbing a finger at him, and Merlin closed his mouth. “Come here.”

Merlin eyed him suspiciously. There were only a handful of things that Arthur meant when he spoke like that, none of which Merlin was entirely sure he felt up to just at that moment. But Arthur merely stared at him, expectant and imperious, and so Merlin went.

“Well?”

“Turn around.”

Merlin turned, and a second later Arthur’s arms slid around his waist from behind, enveloping him so that he was caught between two pillars of heat: the fire at his front and Arthur, solid and alive, at his back. He tensed for a moment, inhaling sharply as the muffled, aching feeling that had plagued him since the curse wore off dissolved into a painful clamour of renewed sensation, like all his nerve-endings were coming awake at once.

Oh. _Oh_.

“I—” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t realise you even knew what a hug was.”

“I’m not entirely devoid of social skills, Merlin.”

“And that’s what you call this, then, is it?” In spite of himself, Merlin was amused. “Politeness?”

Without answering, Arthur turned his head and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s throat, below his left ear, then followed the tendon down below his jaw, nuzzling at the wet trail he left as he went. Merlin made an inarticulate sound, part laugh and part moan, and Arthur pressed even closer still, moulding his body around Merlin’s as though he could form a living barrier between him and the rest of the world.

The kissing wasn’t new—nor was the way that Arthur slid his fingers down to the jut of Merlin’s hips, casually possessive in a way that made him shiver. But hugging was not something they indulged in often; or, indeed, ever, as far as Merlin could recall. Arthur was eminently practical when it came to demonstrations of affection, shying away from anything that was not either meaningless horseplay or in some way a prelude to sex, as though such expressions of emotion were only tolerable if they served some kind of purpose.

And yet, there was no particularly sexual motive to this. Arthur had twined himself inextricably around Merlin’s slim frame, face buried against the back of Merlin’s neck, but he made no move to deepen the embrace, or to shift the moment to a different sort of intimacy. His hands roamed over Merlin’s chest in slow, broad strokes, and for the first time that evening Merlin felt warm all over, like a cat whose owner had finally and unexpectedly found just the right spot to scratch.

“I'm not asking you to leave,” Arthur murmured eventually, returning to their previous conversation. “But I need you to let me be selfish about this. Please. Just this once.”

Merlin had to smile. “As opposed to all of the other things you're so selfless about?”

One of Arthur’s hands found Merlin’s hair, tugging it briefly in reproof; then he scratched his fingers lightly along Merlin’s scalp, tipping Merlin’s head back in a manner that was most distracting. Merlin closed his eyes, letting himself relax into the prince’s embrace, the feeling of Arthur’s lips at his throat. His exhaustion from earlier seemed to be making a reappearance, or perhaps that was simply the effect of the way Arthur was touching him, relentlessly gentle and almost unbearably good.

“I think I’d agree to anything if you keep doing that,” he said finally. It was unfair that Arthur knew what all of his weaknesses were, especially considering Merlin hadn’t known this one existed until just now. “I can’t—I can’t promise that I’ll stop protecting you, but I will try to be more careful in the future. Will that do?”

“Hmm. For now.” Arthur began to massage his neck, and then his shoulders, hands sliding along Merlin’s upper arms, and Merlin gave up any pretence of resistance, letting out a soft sigh as he slumped against Arthur’s chest. It was a nice chest, solid and sturdy and very warm, and Merlin leaned into it unreservedly, grateful all over again that he had been in time to save it along with the rest of the man it was attached to.

“Stay here tonight,” Arthur said softly, and although it was framed as an order Merlin could hear the entreaty in his voice. “I want you to stay where I can—where I can see you.”

“Mmn,” Merlin said without opening his eyes. “I could be persuaded.”

He felt Arthur smile against his neck, then Arthur was unknotting his neckerchief, chucking it aside before turning his attention to Merlin’s laces. Merlin allowed himself to be divested of tunic, boots, and hose without protest, enjoying the way Arthur’s hands lingered luxuriantly over his bare skin. Was this what it felt like to be a prince, to have someone devoted to serving your every need? If so, he could get used to it.

“There,” Arthur said, when he was finished. He pulled a soft linen tunic on over Merlin’s head—one of his sleep tunics, Merlin recognised; it still smelled like him—and then gave him a gentle shove towards the bed. “Now you’ll at least have to stop and get dressed before flinging yourself recklessly into danger on my behalf.”

“I didn’t _fling myself,_ ” Merlin objected, but it was a token protest. He was already scrambling under the covers and making himself at home. “I walked. There was no flinging involved. Besides, it’s the middle of the night.”

“Good.” Arthur smiled down at him, one of his rare, genuinely happy smiles which creased the skin at the corners of his eyes. “Then you won’t mind staying.”

“I never mind staying with you,” Merlin said, before realising how unforgivably soppy that sounded and leaning up to kiss Arthur instead. He got the impression, given the way Arthur’s smile only broadened under his mouth, that the prince wasn’t the slightest bit distracted from his admission, which was very irritating.

“Stop smirking at me,” he said, when they broke apart. “It’s not like it’s some great secret you’ve tricked me into confessing.”

“No,” Arthur acknowledged, still grinning. “But it’s a nice thing to hear, on occasion.”

He kissed Merlin again lightly and then moved away to undress himself, and Merlin sank back against the pillows, watching lazily as Arthur grappled with his laces and then his belt. Arthur’s tanned skin was tawny in the firelight, and it gave Merlin a pleasantly fluttery feeling in his belly to realise that they were alone, with no one to disturb them until daybreak. It wasn’t often that Merlin got Arthur all to himself for that long; it was only a pity that he was too tired to take proper advantage of it.

At last, Arthur blew out the last of the candles and slid into bed beside him. Merlin stirred, surprised to realise he had almost dozed off, and Arthur’s fingers brushed his cheek.

“Shh,” he said. “It’s only me.”

“Hello, me.”

Merlin aimed a kiss at his fingertips and rolled over, fitting himself into the space along Arthur’s side, and the prince stiffened fleetingly before he relaxed. This wasn’t customary between them either, Arthur having protested more than once that _cuddling_ was not the sort of thing princes did, let alone enjoyed, but Merlin knew him far too well by this time to believe everything he said. He fell into sleep easily after that, his face tucked into Arthur’s neck, the lingering ache in his chest gradually subsiding as Arthur’s hand resumed its steady, tender sweep along the curve of Merlin’s spine.


End file.
